Karen Miller - Godspeaker 03 by Hammer of God

Author:Hammer of God [God, Hammer of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-22T12:28:02+00:00

So many godmoons in a strange place, so long since he had breathed Mijak’s blood-touched air.

He let his head fall back, he breathed in his home, he breathed it out. Memories surged and swirled, with his eyes closed this could be Et-Raklion.

But Et-Raklion does not smell of salt also, there is only blood there. In Et-Raklion I did not hide in the wind, I rode the streets in the god’s eye, as its warlord, I feared nothing and no-one, I did not wear shadows. I was the god’s hammer there, I wore its gauntlet of power. Aieee, god, so much has changed. I have changed, I am a stranger.

“Zandakar,” said Dexterity, and tugged at his sleeve. “Zandakar, what’s the matter?”

He opened his eyes. “Nothing.”

“It’s so silent, this place,” said Dexterity, voice hushed. “As though the township’s deserted.

Kingseat’s never this quiet, even in the small hours. There’s always something going on.” He looked around them. “Silent, practically pitch black. There’s not a soul stirring, Zandakar. Can this be right, or has something gone amiss?”

Zandakar shook his head. “Wei. This is chalava-takrazik.” Dexterity stared at him, not understanding. He could not think of Ethrean words to explain the quiet time. “Men sleep. Chalava in the world. Sunrise come, men in the world.”

Dexterity was frowning. “You mean it’s a kind of curfew?”

Curfew. He did not know that word. He shrugged. “Zho. Maybe.”

“Well, if everyone’s indoors, Zandakar, if no-one’s out and about, how do you think we’re supposed to find this Vortka of yours?”

He shrugged. “Chalava.”

“Of course,” muttered Dexterity, pulling a face. “Chalava. Silly question, Jones.”

Zandakar started walking again, and Dexterity walked with him. They walked to the end of the narrow, crooked street where it joined a wider street that sloped up from the harbour, leading towards the main township of Jatharuj.

At the end of the narrow crooked street stood a godpost.

Dexterity gasped. Yellow light played over the godpost, a torch had been left burning so it might be seen in the night. The torch was burning down, flickering and inconstant.

“What’s that?” said Dexterity. “It’s – it’s horrible. So ugly. Grotesque.”

“Chalava,” Zandakar whispered, and dropped to the ground. There was pain as his knees struck the stone street, he welcomed it, he gave it to the god. An offering. A sacrifice. “Chalava, Dexterity.”

“Oh,” said Dexterity, his voice sounded small.

Zandakar felt sinning to kneel before it, no godbraids, no godbells, no amulets. He stared up at the scorpion, at the coiled snake of Et-Raklion, he stared at the god’s face and felt tears in his eyes.

I am here, god, do you see me? You called me, your voice was in my heart. I am come to Mijak, show me what to do.

In the night’s silence, the sound of leather soles slapping the street.

“Get up, get up,” said Dexterity. “Quickly. Some-one’s coming!”

He stood. Dexterity grabbed his arm, tried to drag him away, but he resisted.

“Zandakar, what are you doing? I know those guards didn’t see us but Sun-dao’s poorly, who knows how long his power to keep us hidden will—”

“Wei, Dexterity,” he said.

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